


Sugar Plum Fairy

by ViktoryKill



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fantasizing, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Popular Lance (Voltron), Secret Crush, Self-Hatred, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26169838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViktoryKill/pseuds/ViktoryKill
Summary: In which Keith, one of the stranger kids in school, has a crush on Lance and does a bad job hiding it.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Kudos: 63





	Sugar Plum Fairy

"Fuck this," Keith muttered, his frustration reaching a climax. He'd been trying, for a solid half an hour, to understand what the teacher was on about, but try as he might he just couldn't get it.

Not that this was unusual for him; but generally, whether he understood the teacher or not, he did catch on pretty quickly as to what the actual _content_ of the lesson was. That is, he could use context clues, and his hawk-eye observations, to glean what was happening.

But this time around, for whatever stupid reason, he just wasn't getting it. Not from the teacher's moustached mouth, not from the white chalky markings on the blackboard, not from the students sitting next to him. The whole lesson was passing right over his head.

It was embarrassing. Annoying. Humiliating. And most of all, fucking frustrating.

Everyone else had it. Everyone else, from what he could tell, actually looked bored. As if it were too _easy_.

"Sir?" he said, timidly raising his hand. His voice was barely audible, scarcely above a whisper, but the teacher saw his hand.

"What is it, Keith?" He sounded vaguely pissed. Keith couldn't blame him - he was generally a trouble student after all.

In fact, what the fuck was he doing, going to this dude in a weak position? Asking him for _help_ , of all things. Damn. If this lesson really was as easy as Keith suspected, the teacher could have days, weeks, maybe even years of ammunition on him.

" _Oh. You're confused. Is that it? Huh._ _You're the only one who couldn't figure it out. You, Keith, who think you're the world's brightest boy. A round of applause, please._ "

Keith felt his cheeks burning, even though the insult hadn't even been said yet, and the likeliness of it actually being said was nearly zero.

He gripped the pencil in his hand so tightly in snapped in half, spraying lead across his fingers. He hissed softly in frustration, biting his lip to keep from spouting feral screams, the way he wanted to.

Last thing he needed was any attention on him at this moment - someone might figure out how goddamn confused he was, and broadcast it to the whole class.

"Keith. If you raised your hand without actually meaning to say anything..." The teacher tapped his pointer impatiently on the desk.

Shit. Keith had already forgotten about his raised hand.

"Uh..." he started.

A few laughs rang out from students around him.

Shit shit shit! Everyone was staring at him - he was the center of attention. Exactly what he'd wanted to avoid.

The eyes burned holes into him, and he just stared at the lead on his hands and the dust falling from the broken pencil, not sure what to do and hating himself for it.

"I don't know about him, man, but I got a question," said a jaunty voice.

Keith's heart jumped into his chest, hurting him with the intensity of its pulsations as a sweet feeling washed over him, a cascading tide of bliss.

The strong reaction was familiar to him. Familiar, yet so uniquely expressed that each time was a new experience all in itself.

It was Lance who had spoken. Lance, the boy who sat two chairs opposite him.

The boy whose face was generally obscured by some obnoxious blonde girl who always sucked on gum and talked about her poodle, and who flirted with him every day because she thought that with him being the weird boy and her being the weird girl, they were destined to be together. Or some shit.

Lance, the boy who made him feel weird. Made him catch his breath, and catch himself smiling for no reason.

The boy who made him forget - for brief yet very worrisome moments - where he was. What he was saying, or doing.

What his life even was. How bleak it was. And stupid.

You see, Lance was wonderful. Just look at now, for instance.

He didn't understand the lesson, but instead of going into some kind of hissy fit-breakdown like _he_ \- Keith - had, Lance just went straight up to the teacher and said: "I don't get it."

Like a real dude. No embarrassment, no shame. Just frank, open, honest. He didn't care about the laughter that followed. Hell, he grinned with them. It was all in good fun.

Even the teacher was smiling.

It was always like that with Lance. He was, at heart, just your everyday boy. Not much made him stand out. Yeah, he was a bit taller than average, and made a fucking massacre out of any video game. But a lot of guys were like that.

No, it was his personality that made him stand out, made him such fun for everyone to be around. Yeah, some found him annoying. Took his cockiness as arrogance, and his burning desire to question things for stupidity. But Lance didn't, and never would, give a fuck. He wasn't angry about it. He just went on being him, regardless of how people reacted.

He was like the sun, or better yet, a star, floating in an infinite galaxy, trying to outshine the sun. Because he thought he was that good.

Keith sighed. He had no idea where his mind was going with this metaphor, and he still didn't know what this fucking lesson was about.

But as much as he tried to work himself up into an anger, a rage - the kind of rage where he just kind of blanked out and started seeing the numbers and patterns in the world around him (a weird gift of his, he had no idea where it came from), the mind-numbing joy flushed his senses and snuffed out any possibility of anger.

He just stared at Lance - as indirectly as he could, anyway.

Lance was so... eh, _cool_. Keith settled on the word cautiously, before anything more dangerous or arousing could pop into his head.

Lance's face, in profile, with the sharp, angular chin and narrow, clever eyes - there was so much to look at, so much to admire.

Keith felt like he could spend all day staring at the island that was Lance.

* * *

The bell rang loudly, shocking Keith out of his daydreams. He shook his head, yawning as if he'd just woken up from a deep sleep, and stretched lazily as he got out of his chair.

He felt relieved that the teacher hadn't called him up to make a presentation, or prove that he'd gotten the lesson. Maybe the dude wasn't so bad after all. He yawned again, unknowingly showing off his side teeth that looked like fangs, and slowly shuffled out of the classroom, brushing against the coats and jeans of a bunch of other kids.

But before he could get very far down the hall, he sensed something.

Something that gave him chills.

Slowly, he turned his head around, then froze.

It was Lance. Coming towards him.

Keith hastily looked down at his shoes, trying not to feel panicked. But the rush was already coming over him, the blood flowing very hard under his skin, making him shiver.

"Hey, how's it going?"

Keith flung his head up, looking as laidback as he could. "Hey, Lance. Didn't notice you." he lied blatantly.

Lance smirked. "Oh, sure." he said, clearly seeing through it, but brushing it off. "You looked kinda pissed today."

Keith rolled his eyes. "I was," he said. "Wanna make something of it?"

Lance shrugged. "Nah," he said good-naturedly. He put his hand on Keith's shoulder. "Wanna go hang out or something?"

Keith jerked involuntarily. The touch sent electricity through him, sending a pang to his heart and coursing through his fingers. He tried not to laugh, tried not to act weird, tried not to shiver again. "Eh, sure," he said, more frostily than he'd intended, but pleased with himself anyway.

"Cool," said Lance. "Wanna come to my house? It's kinda lame, but it's the best I got to offer. On such short notice anyway." He winked.

Keith's heart jumped in his throat again, an involuntary smile crossing his face. "Nice," he whispered hoarsely, earning a slightly curious glance from Lance. _Not_ pleased with himself for that one.

* * *

Keith walked with Lance down the street in the setting midday sun, their shadows stretching in front of them.

Lance talked almost hyperactively, as usual, shifting from subject to subject with the swiftness of a 60 mile breeze, sometimes cutting himself off because he was so eager to get to a fresh point.

He had ADHD, Keith swore. Not that he was pointing fingers or anything; lord knows, he himself was far more of a mess.

"That kid will surely end up incarcerated," one counsellor had said, when she thought he couldn't hear. Not that it would've mattered; students had said far worse about him, knowing full well he could hear them.

He didn't give a shit. He actually wondered himself, sometimes, if he was okay. Whether he had his head on straight enough.

For the last five years, he'd been feeling... off. Angry. Confused. Pissed. Anxious. Only able to be really, genuinely happy when he was alone. Constantly making people around him scared, annoyed, and irritated. Alienated.

He felt guilty about this. Knew it was the reason why his mother skipped out on him. Knew it was why his father barely came to visit him. But he couldn't change it. This was the only way he could act. And he just didn't care; he couldn't help it.

And yet...

And yet...

Sometimes he disturbed himself.

For instance, for the last two years, he'd had Tchaikovsky's "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" ringing in his ears on constant repeat. Unrelentingly. Even when he listened to other songs, to the radio, to the TV - it went on playing, like a whisper deep within his ear.

Tinkling and tinkling.

Pissing the hell out of him.

That disturbed him.

And irked him.

And made him laugh.

Contradictory. A paradox.

"Ya think it's cool?"

Keith looked up. Lance's room. They were already in Lance's room.

And it _was_ cool. An electric guitar hanging on the wall, a few posters. Vintage stuff. A 1997 model phone on the table, covered in dust. A big boombox on his bed, which had a nice plaid colored blanket over it.

Keith smiled, sitting down and inhaling absently. Lance's scent was heavy in the room. And it made him feel...

"Ya payin' attention, buddy?" Lance slapped him on the knee. "Or were you about to faint from the cool?"

Keith sighed, trying to stem the urge to roll around in the covers. "It's nice," he said. "Very nice."

Lance raised an eyebrow, smirking at Keith with his trademark mild superiority. "You like the bed?" he said, leaning into him. 

Keith gasped audibly, kicking himself immediately. "Yeah," he mumbled. 

"Me too." said Lance.

It could be seen as flirtatious, but Keith didn't get it. He just blinked, staring with blind adoration at Lance's face, bronze and glowing, only inches from him. He could almost feel his breath.

"Lance?" he said.

"Yeah?"

" _Kiss_ _me_." The thought just sprang to his mind, completely out of left field. Or was it?

Honestly.

"Wanna play chess?" he blurted. But it didn't sound like an accident. It came out nice and cool, like it was something he'd meant all along.

Lance grinned. "Wanna get beat?" he said, folding his arms. He sprang up and fished under his bed for a few seconds, then triumphantly pulled out a beautiful chess set, made of wood, with pieces almost five inches tall each.

"Whoa." said Keith. "I almost want to go easy on you now."

"The fuck you on about?" Lance thumped down on the bed next to him, carefully laying out the pieces on the board. "Let's go!"

* * *

When Keith left Lance's house, he felt pretty nice. About the world. About the day. About himself.

It was getting dark, clouds gathering overhead, but Keith saw nothing but starlight. Why? 

Eh, he'd had a good time. For once. 

That's all.

Still, he was kicking himself, even if he would never dare admit it. He'd wanted to kiss Lance. He should've just said it. Dealt with the rejection afterwards, with never being able to look Lance in the eyes again.

At least he would've finally satisfied the urge that had been consuming him from inside out, since he'd first seen the dude.

For a moment, his imagination conjured the scene in his head.

He and Lance, sitting on the bed with the plaid quilt, locking lips like the lovestruck fools in movies. The world just melting away, right in front of their eyes, as all they could see was each other. To be locked in love, lost in the connection to another's soul. What could be better?

Keith sighed, smiling from the thought.

Then awareness flooded back into him, and he pinched himself.

"Quit that bull," he sternly chastised his stupid brain. "Keep thinking that kind of shit and you won't even be able to talk normally to him."

Keith looked up at the sky. It had gotten very dark. Maybe it would rain.

Time to get home.


End file.
